Words
by Honey Funny Bunny
Summary: Shea writes a poem for Chelsea. Of course, for a boy with limited vocabulary, it's not exactly the easiest task. Plus there's the part where he has to get it to her.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harvest Moon.

**Note: **I absolutely love Shea x Chelsea, and was disappointed to find out that there weren't many stories about him and Chelsea. So, I decided to write my own. At first it was going to be through Shea's point of view, but because of his imperfect English and all, I just decided for it to be third person.

- - -

**Words**

Another stick – was it really a stick? It didn't look like other sticks in the jungle; this one had a pointy, gray end that wrote on the paper and another square, pink end whose purpose was unknown and mysterious – broken, another one needed.

The spiky-haired boy grunted in frustration. He didn't know much about these "sticks", but he knew that they were absolutely essential in writing a poem to _her._

And who was her? _Chelsea – Blue_, he immediately thought. He liked the sound of her name, though it was quite difficult for him to say it. The only part of her name that he understood was the _–sea_ part, that it was another word for the ocean, and so he just called her "Blue", for the color of the sea. She hadn't comprehended the nickname yet, she'd just go along with it all the time…should he write it in the poem?

How would he word it? _Chelsea, sea, blue._ Happiness waved in front of him; it flowed together! _Chelsea, sea, blue._ _Chelsea, sea, blue_. Yes, he would write it in.

Pleased with himself, he set off to think of more clever things. It wasn't smart to just write in the traditional three words – "No 'I love you'…too…_same_," Wada had advised him – no, no, he needed more than that. Nothing in "I love you" echoed the way he felt whenever he saw her coming around with a large fish, the way he felt one day when it was pouring and he'd thought with a sinking feeling that she wasn't going to come, but she did. But he couldn't write that feeling down. He didn't even understand it himself.

What exactly was this feeling? He thought, and he thought hard.

It was a mixture of things, he realized. Whenever he saw her red bandana, warmth rushed throughout his veins. Whenever he saw her brown hair, his heart began to beat faster, like when something rare and big was tugging at his fishing pole. Whenever he saw her blue eyes, the jungle around him vanished, became invisible. Whenever he saw her smile, his favorite of all, he looked forward to tomorrow, when she'd appear and smile for him yet again.

But why did it have to be so complicated like that? Why couldn't he write what he felt? It was so troublesome trying to translate those feelings into words, words he didn't know.

Was it possible to make it simpler without losing the true meanings to the words…?

He'd try.

_Warm feeling when see you._

That was good, but not good enough.

_Fire when see you._

Would she understand that? He hoped she would, and continued on…

_Heart faster when see brown hair._

No, no… He crossed that out, frustrated, nearly ripping the paper in the process.

He closed his eyes and willed with all his might that his brain could grow smarter. In between racking his mind for words, he began to drift off to daydreaming about her, about holding her hand and walking through the jungle together…

And that's when he finally found the right words.

-

"Wada! Read poem," Shea said, his chest practically puffed out in a sense of pride and accomplishment, handing the paper, a bit crumpled now, to his father.

Wada scanned over the poem, taking only seconds to finish. His eyes narrowed, and Shea held his breath – was it bad? He'd thought it was pretty good… Would he have to rewrite it?

"Not good?" he whispered, crestfallen.

Then Wada's squinty eyes widened and he began jumping up and down. "No! Good, good… Son's…smart!"

Shea couldn't help but chuckle at his adoptive father's antics. Wada danced around a little bit, howling with laughter. Filled with confidence, Shea walked out the door with his chin up and shoulders set.

She'd love it.

And he wouldn't tell himself anything else, wouldn't put a damper on his spirit by doubting.

-

A problem did come up, though.

Where did she live?

Shea sat down onto the grass and thought. He didn't let himself get discouraged or anything – he'd written a poem for her, surely he could do something as simple as get it to her. He knew where she lived, she'd told him something about it once, and all he had to do was think…

Certainly she didn't live in the jungle. He'd seen her come across the bridge, so that must mean she lived somewhere on the other side.

Well, he _was_ on the other side of the bridge, so where was she?

His thoughts were interrupted as he felt a tap on his shoulder. Immediately, he looked up excitedly, expecting to see her beautiful face and her familiar red bandana. "Blue?" he blurted out.

Only this…_thing_ wasn't her. Shea studied its face. It was a male, like him. He did have a bandana, only it was purple and a black bird was perched on the top. He didn't have cerulean eyes like she did, and his skin was darker than hers.

"Hi," the man said cheerfully. "I haven't seen you around. You're from the jungle, aren't you? I'm Denny."

"Hello. Shea," replied Shea simply. "Yes. From jungle."

Denny raised his eyebrow at Shea's broken English, but understood in the next second. "Ah, okay. Well, see you around."

Shea only nodded impassively, causing Denny to grin sheepishly. "Good…bye?"

Denny chuckled. "Yeah, g'bye." He turned around and began to walk away.

Shea only stared at his retreating figure blankly…then his eyes lit up. Could this person possibly know _her_? "Wait minute!" he shouted. "You know Blue?"

Denny stopped in his tracks and turned on his heels. "Blue? Yeah, I like that color."

Getting onto his feet, Shea shook his head vigorously. "No, no, not color blue. Blue!"

"Umm…"

"Blue, like sea," Shea pressed on. "Sea! A…a girl. With…red bandana." With his hands, he made an invisible bandana on his head. And then he imitated the waves of the ocean with his arms.

Comprehension lit up across Denny's face. "Oh, Chelsea?"

"Yes, yes!"

"She lives on the farm north of the town," Denny said helpfully. "I'm pretty sure you know which way's north, so you'll find it." He grinned then. "Mind if I ask why?"

Shea pointed to the folded paper in his right hand. "Made poem for her."

"Ooh, slick!" commented Denny and laughed, causing Shea to turn a slight pink in the cheeks. "Well, good luck, man." The black parrot on his head chirped as if in agreement, and then he walked away, whistling.

"T-thank you!" Shea hollered. "North, yes…" He knew where that was.

Excited now, he followed the road until buildings joined his surroundings. The path in front of him forked forward, east, or west. The forward road was really going west, the west road going south, so the east should be going up – north.

Shea ran, ran as fast as he could. He didn't know much about farm life, but he knew that at around this time, she shouldn't still be there. Hopefully, she was out collecting extra things for money or something. He wanted her to find the letter alone on her bed, smile as she read it, and know right away that it was from him.

Sure enough, the road led to a ranch. There were crops growing on the field and a building, probably for animals, in the distance. He felt that irrational warmth in his blood again, just being on her property, knowing that her feet had once stepped where he was standing right now.

Then, the farmhouse. The comfortable warmth reached a passionate heat – this was where she slept and awoke. He felt like what he was doing was wrong, going on her property without her permission, but at the same time, he didn't want to leave. Her scent was everywhere, surrounding him, intoxicating him. Now, if only she appeared in front of him right now…

The poem in his right hand suddenly felt heavy like rocks, reminding him of the main reason he came in the first place.

He ran swiftly and quietly to the farmhouse and grasped the knob with his left hand. Before he turned it and opened the door, however, an upsetting possibility came to him. What if she was inside? What if she thought he was creepy for trying to sneak into her house? Would she get angry at him?

Preparing for the worst and hoping for the best, he opened the door and stepped inside unsurely, like how Wada had reluctantly tasted some new food he'd found.

Her sweet scent intensified, but she wasn't there, much to his luck.

As much as Shea wanted to stay and wait until she came home, he dropped the poem onto her bed and slipped out.

_I did it,_ he thought to himself proudly. Now all he had to do was wait until tomorrow – she'd have read the poem by then…

-

"Tomorrow's a new day," Chelsea said to no one in particular as she got into her pajamas. Today had drained her, and to make it all worse, she'd felt guilty that she hadn't gone to the Jungle to present Shea with some fish. It'd been biting at her all day long.

Yawning, Chelsea approached her bed, and abruptly halted.

On her bed, on top of the blue blanket, was a slightly crumpled, messily-folded piece of paper. Was it a letter?

Shaking her head, she picked it up and unfolded it, almost carefully. There were words on it. Small and disorganized, as if the writer had had a tough time writing, but readable. There were phrases all over the paper that were crossed out, but seven weren't, and they were aligned like how a poem would be…

_Chelsea, sea, blue._

_Fire when see you._

_Lungs stop working when see you._

_Heart works harder when see you._

_Seeing you better than fish you give._

_You smile, and sun comes up_

_Chelsea, sea, blue._

That night, she slept with the poem underneath her pillow. Tomorrow, she'd give him two things: the biggest fish she could find and the biggest smile she could make.

- - -

**Note:** Gah. I don't really like it. Too cheesy. I'd like to know what you guys thought, though, so please review! :)


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